open | the old, old winds blowing you back around

[creidim]

Who: Luna Lovegood + you!
What: September Catch-all + Event Prompts to follow.
When: Late-August; the month of September.
Where: The Farther Shores; Gaze; Others.

☽ the pale morning sings of forgotten things | the farther shores | arrival
cw: thalassophobia; refs to drowning; possible nudity / partial nudity; amnesia-related themes

---

[ It's strange, remembering. At first, a little frightening — the waters all around her, the ocean floor falling away from her feet. She'd walked into the sea, her hand in another's, following the moon, the mother — she'd felt cold, at first. And she'd been frightened despite herself; feet kicking uselessly, trying to find a surface to stand upon but finding nothing there. Nothing at all; only the murky, heavy feeling of water all around her. But after a while, something seemed to wash over her — it didn't feel so scary anymore. The moon had said so, hadn't she—? It didn't feel like anything, anymore. She remembers the ocean swallowing her whole, and then being alone — bobbing silently along with the waves.

She'd felt small, quiet. She is little more than that. But— oh, she will be Something. She swims with purpose, drawn one direction. She will be Something! Something that is far more than just small and quiet. She wants to know what it is. And soon enough, she will find out — the endless ocean sweeps into shore and there's sand beneath her. Hands reach for her, soft and warm and safe. The woman smiles, her words are soft and warm, too.

Hello, old friend. It is so good to see you again. I have missed you. And she believes it, she does. And the process begins: gentle coaxing to remember, the strangeness of it all. She remembers the feeling of the cold air on her skin; paint on her fingertips, under her nails; how the forest floor feels beneath her bare feet; she remembers silver of her eyes, so wide and so curious, the curve of her smile and the taste of sugar on her tongue. She remembers, faintly, the feeling of fingers coaxing her hair — how long and pale, scraggly curls tucked carefully behind her ear. The woman is kind and patient with her, wrapping her up in the dark robe — exclaiming gently: Aren't you a small thing? Just as I remember. It's a little big for you but it'll do.

She still feels strange, different. But whole. A girl. She is... here.

The woman leaves her be after a while, and the girl sits on the warm black sand — still strange but content. Her legs stretch before her, she tries to wriggle her toes. She seems enthralled by her fingers, and bends to start drawing shapes in the sand: stars, a crescent moon, a rabbit, a leaf, all sorts of things — although they don't quite look how they're supposed to. She'll stretch as far as she can, long blonde hair covering her face and drifting lazily in the sea breeze, fighting against the fabric of her robe, partially disrobed the longer she works. Still, she seems quite happy in her own world making soft little chirrups and babbling sounds, relatively subdued. And that's where she'll stay, where she can be find by others.

At some point, perhaps after you've come across her — this strange, partially dressed girl drawing so intensely in the sand — a dog will arrive. Huge, almost wolf-like. Some kind of large husky or malamute. Maybe you followed the dog as she searched along the shore, looking for someone, or maybe the dog recognised you and is bringing you along as she looks for her owner. She's excited to see the girl, licking at her face and whining. But the girl just pets the dog, still making her little sounds — no words coming yet — looking up with wide eyes and pointing at you. Oh! It's you! Whoever you are!

Or perhaps it's much later, the day shifting to night. The girl remains on the beach amongst the drawings in the sand, the dog resting at her side. She continues to pet the dog absently; she doesn't know the dog's name but she seems know that the dog does belong to her. Has it always? Or is it just now? She doesn't know. But she's still relatively calm and quiet until she catches sight of the pale red moon that hangs in the skies. And then, the girl comes alive. She stares at the moon peeking over the horizon and after a long moment, something clicks inside of her. Recognition washes over her face, sheer delight and excitement lighting up her eyes. She starts shrieking gleefully, growing louder and louder and more incessant.

It's gibberish that comes out, but there's a few words here and there that sound like sense: Moon! I am Moon! Moon! Mum! Mum, Moon! ]

☽ every once in a while I'd sing a song for you | the farther shores | arrival pt. ii
cw: amnesia-related themes

---

[ Once she's gotten the hang of using her legs again, Luna walks slowly down the boardwalk. She's still dressed in the robe she'd been given by the Waker, a tiny thing swamped in the black and her long sea-soaked hair loose down her back, looking more like a lost child than anything else. But she's not alone, a huge, wolf-like dog hovers at her side — almost half the height of her. Luna keeps one hand on the dog, occasionally petting the soft grey fur of her back. Helga keeps watch of her owner, grumbling low if anyone comes too close — she seems to understand something's not quite right with Luna, and just wants to keep a close eye on her. But not even Luna can explain what it is, the pieces of her mind still putting themselves back together.

Luna walks as if in a daze, slow and uneven steps, taking the place in — or trying to. There's so much around her: so many sights and smells she doesn't really know where to look first. It's... dizzying, overwhelming. Her mouth opens and closes silently, brow upturned for a moment: hungry. And with the scent of cream and sugar so thick in the sea air, she doesn't really know where to go — doesn't have the sense to approach a stall.

Instead, something else catches her eye — the twinkling strings of fairy-lights that hang low across the boardwalk. Luna stops, stares for a long moment, utterly mesmerized. She... she remembers these, somehow. She remembers them as good, in some way. Her stomach rumbles softly and she makes a soft sound — her hands reaching up for the lights, fingers straining.

Maybe they'd be good to eat, she thinks. If she could just reach them. ]

☽ your timid smile | luna's home, gaze
cw: n/a

---

[ The rain seems almost endless, the sky thick with full, dark clouds. Days seem to drag on in a watery blur for the most part, downpours to drizzle and back again. Until one evening, the skies seem to ease off in their assault on the city below as the daylight fades to dusk. For a short while, things seem calm. Peaceful even. It's nice, even if the clouds never fully leave. Even if there's a definite chill in the air, summer on its way out. More rain will come soon, but for now there's a break — the pale blood moon keeping watch above.

And then comes the haunting melodies that grace the open air: Moon Presence sweeps low in the skies, swirling effortlessly around building tops — moves with meaning and without it too. She goes where she pleases, it seems. She sings to the city as night approaches, soft ethereal music that seems to echo across different part of the city. As she moves through Gaze, she seems to hover around on a particular street for some reason — low, easy circling that seems a great deal more meaningful. It seems something has caught her attention.

Until it becomes apparent that on this one particular street in Gaze, there is a teenage girl sat upon the roof of a tall Georgian-style townhouse. It appears that she's climbed out from one of the attic-room windows, quite at ease as she perches. Luna stares up into the skies, wide eyes watching Moon Presence as she draws close for a moment and then swirls away again. It's hard to tell from the height, but there's a conversation of some sort — the girl speaking softly to her whenever she floats close by.

This is who's gotten Moon Presence's attention for the moment, until she notices whoever's watching the two of them and turns to look. Luna blinks and looks down at the pavement, beaming and then waving at the person below. She looks delighted. ]

It's alright—! Everything's fine—! Come say hello—!

☽ rise above the mountains and the stars and the sea | archaic archives, gaze
cw: n/a

---

[ It's a delightful discovery to find that the library is so close to home, that she lives in the same district as it. It doesn't take her long to venture to the Archaic Archives; trust the Ravenclaw to make a beeline for such a place. While she does give the museum artefacts a look through, she's more interested in looking for some particular books. She wanders around purposely but on occasion some kind of curious thing on display will catch her attention and she'll stop to examine it for a short time before returning to her wanderings.

She'll be here for a good while, easy to come across as she carefully makes her way around the mazes of the library. Deerington's library will always have a special place in her heart, but this place is quite something. She'll definitely be found here often in the future. And certaintly she doesn't look lost at all, if you happen upon her. She looks quite at home, in fact. ]

It seems so easy to get lost in here, doesn't it?

[ And despite her words, she seems quite cheerful. ]

contact heolstor or heolstor#5725 for planning/plotting. event-related prompts to follow. plotting post is here

Comments

event prompts

[creidim]

event top level here

Archives

[frogfear]

[The maze of stacks is confusing, and it is remarkably easy to lose your way in them, especially if you're distracted by the titles of the volumes on the shelves, or the artifacts interspersed between.

She doesn't seem terribly concerned, though. By her side is a small, smoky fox that she trusts will be able to help her find the way back out when the time comes to return to her home in Gaze.

It's both a surprise and not to come across Luna here, and Willow can't help but grin. They don't know each other particularly well yet, but it seems a perfectly logical place to run into another witch.]

Oh hey! Good to see you.

[She looks around at the maze of shelves surrounding them.]

Yeah, it does seem pretty easy to lose your way in here, huh?

[creidim]

I'm rather glad you made it. [ Luna smiles, pleased. She knows there's plenty of people who chose not to go through the door, some chose to go home and stay there. But it's nice Willow chose to go to the new world too. ]

I think it's meant to be a bit like that? [ She hums thoughtfully, before frowning at a shelf of books. None of them seem to be in any clear order. ] I've never seen a library system like it. It's certainly not Deerington's library.

[frogfear]

I'm glad you made it too. It was some trip, huh? [It's a relief every time Willow sees someone she remembers from Deerington. Some people may have chosen to go home, but it's hard not to worry that there might not also be those who are simply still out in the ocean as squid waiting to come ashore.]

Yeah - that's the impression I get too - that this is designed to be a little confusing. [She pauses, and skims across the titles on a couple different shelves.] I mean, there doesn't seem to be any particular order at all to any of it, so it can't be that someone is just that bad at organizing things. There's probably a reason for it, though?

[creidim]

Do you remember much of it? [ There's bits and pieces, here and there. Strange flashes of memories. Of being alone, of just... being. Feeling small. ]

Mm, I think so. If this place is run by Never Mind, and he's a Pthumerian of learning— [ She's picking up pieces here and there, seen how he's been trying to encourage people into Gaze, into the School of Mutter. ] Then I suppose we have to be clever about it.

[ She's thoughtful for a few moments, looking at the shelves herself. ]

If I'm looking for something, the first place I check is where I feel like I might have left it. You know what I mean? [ Maybe here is similar. ] Is there anything you're looking for in particular?

[frogfear]

Not a whole lot - it's, um, all pretty jumbled up. [Like Luna, she recalls bits and pieces - flashes of swimming through the ocean, and the sudden feeling that she had had enough of being alone, and just merely existing before becoming human again far from shore.

She smiles a little. ]

I remember enough that I don't really wanna go even hang out at even a really nice beach again any time soon.

[She takes a few moments to browse the shelves as she ponders Luna's point - maybe it is some kind of puzzle.]

Yeah, I get what you mean. Or sometimes if it's something really lost, it turns up where you least expect it.

Have you heard much about Never Mind?

[creidim]

It's a bit like that for me, too. Did you have to remember that you had things like... fingers and a nose again—? [ Remembering how to be a person, really. She's pretty sure she mostly sounded like a bird for the first couple of days. Not to mention walking much like a toddler. ] Mm, I understand the sentiment.

[ At least it's turning towards the colder months now, not really the time of year for the beach. Well, that's if the seasons work in a similar way to what they've known. It's hard to tell just yet. ]

Exactly! So perhaps it's a bit like that here? [ She grins for a moment before she shakes her head. ] Not much, really. I understand he's a Pthumerian who favours knowledge and learning. He's certainly been encouraging people to come to the School of Mutter.

It's nice, in a way. It feels much more like home than I expected it to.

arrival

[possessum]

( Slowly, he's been able to re-learn how to move, and speak, and understand. It's been a long process for the boy who isn't empty, but too full. There's so much to sort itself out within him, and it still hasn't fully evened out into a stabilised form. His eyes are strange, if one looks at them closely enough: one seems blacker than the other, its pupil swollen, the white of it slightly bloodshot, like something beneath the surface has iritated the organ. Sometimes he forgets the name he's slowly regained, forgets he's Peter. (Is he Peter, or is someone else Peter? He still has to coax it out of himself.) Every once in awhile his tongue gives a soft, involuntary click.

He doesn't know how long he's been here, has no real awareness of it, but some hours must have passed, because eventually Peter's able to walk again without falling. He wanders the Boardwalk, encountering others, not quite remembering any of them the way he should, but— they seem to remember parts of him. And there's a part of him that several people are aware of, a direction they coax him to: he's lost, but there's someone to find. There's someone named Luna.

He still can't quite remember the shape of her, but there are other things within him, things that he's able to recall as the hours pass. Soft palms and gentle fingers, quiet tears, and warm smiles. By the time Helga finds him, he remembers that Luna means the moon.

The large, wolflish dog recognises him, and Peter recognises her, though it takes him a moment to understand it. His hand gently spreads over her head, some sensation of relief, happiness to see her — and in the next moment, some sensation of cutting loss. Rex isn't here, comes the intrusive thought, foreign at first in its suddenness, and then too, too familiar. Somehow he knows it. Rex is someone important to him, and Rex is gone, and Peter will never see him again. His strangely uneven eyes ache a little; moisture glosses them for a moment. He follows the dog with a quiet desperation as she guides him, his feet bare against the sand, his lean body still adorned in the black garment he was given. His hair is a wild tangle of sand-crusted, windblown curls. Glinting as he moves is a bracelet made of leather and beads, a bright blue. He'd found it in the bag, though it took him awhile to understand what to do with it.

Now he knows, and it rests there against the bone of his wrist. Blue. Blue is important.

The dog's found someone sitting there: runs up to them, licking, whining, excited. The person turns to look at him, all wide eyes and strange sounds, and he almost cries out, almost crumbles. )

My witch. ( The two words are whispered under his breath, but he barely hears himself even say it, doesn't even quite comprehend that he has. His still-wet eyes widen; he's lowering slowly to the sand beside her to kneel, hardly daring to breathe. What comes next, he is aware of, and he's looking at the girl (small, fairy-soft, robes half hanging off of her) like he's seeing her for the first time in his life, and yet — simultaneously, somehow, as though he's known her for all of it.

His Luna. )

I found you.

[creidim]

[ The dog seems to come out nowhere, but she isn't afraid. But she's taken aback by the delight of it for a moment, how happy it is to see her and the girl makes a soft little squeal in reply — face thoroughly 'cleaned' as it greets her. Her hands reach for the dog's fur; it feels familiar somehow, the texture of it under her fingers, how soft and warm. She can't pinpoint it, though. She feels she knows this dog, but she can't quite grasp it just yet.

It'll come to her in time, she supposes. Like a nice surprise of sorts. She gently presses the dog away and the dog sits and whines softly, incessantly — tail wagging furiously. Helga is patient, despite her excitement — she has found Luna! And not only that she's found Luna's boy! She found Peter! She's pleased with herself, but the boy needs to see her owner too. Even Helga understands: they're very important to one another.

When the girl looks up with her wide eyes and pointing fingers, there isn't much in terms of recognition in her eyes. Not quite. She greets the boy with a series of sounds, gibberish mostly. Soft little chirrups and whines, half-words. Pleased. But the boy stares at her for a long moment, drops down beside her and she pauses, gets a better look at him now he's closer — there's something familiar about him, too.

'I found you.'

The girl exhales softly, expression sobering. He was looking for her—? She doesn't understand, not yet. Her head tilts slightly, eyes catching his — the mismatched pair of black and a little bloodshot and the other warm, dark brown. She knows those eyes, she does. Both of them. How does she know them? Why is he so familiar to her, and yet not all at once? She lets out a long, low whine — frustrated at the thought, at herself. There's something there, inside of her, and she tries desperately to coax the pieces together — whatever those pieces are.

Two hands reach for him; tries to reach for his face — fingers clumsy and heavy. She can't move well, she wants to draw him near. She makes the long, low sound again, brow pinching. He found her, he knows her. Did she lose him? ]

[possessum]

( There's a soft echo of a smile — the first he's really had since waking up here — as he watches the girl and the dog. Somewhere in him, he knows how intelligent the great creature is, and that she's led him here. He's grateful but swallows it for now, letting Luna have time with her instead. Later, there'll be many, many good pets for Helga.

For now... he watches the girl see him, take him in, with those odd sounds that aren't language, and barely sound human, but she isn't something scary. She's.... like a child, almost. Something so small and innocent sat there in the sand drawing. He's nervous, he realises, a quiet anxiety blossoming in him. Nervous... of her? To be forgotten by her? He's only barely remembered, either; he understands this is difficult to do. Not too long ago he'd barely been able to speak either, and he's still... strange. But there's a deep protectiveness of her state that he recognises as vulnerable. Now that he's found her, he won't ever leave her; he knows this, immediately. He'll keep her safe.

She makes a sound that seems melancholy, and it makes his heart ache softly as he leans in closer, only for the girl to reach for his face with hands that still haven't remembered how to work themselves. Peter catches them for a moment, gently pressing his palms on top of her knuckles, staring at her as she frames his face that way. He... knows this. He knows what it is to be held by her. His odd eyes swim with it, with some deep emotion, and he swallows again. )

It's all right. I'm— here.

( He whispers, tries to reassure her, having a hazy memory of how lost he'd felt, how... overwhelmed in ways. He's looking her over, worried— and realisation creeps in, the awareness of things he hadn't had before, needs for modesty. One of his hands moves to slowly, gently, coax the shoulder of her robe upwards, covering her up a little more again. )

I'm... Peter. ( The name still feels weird, foreign against his tongue which only seconds ago had spoken of its own accord. My witch, it had said. Something moves within him with a desperation to reach out to her; Peter doesn't stop it, lets it move, and his mouth gives a soft murmur — but it isn't anything in a true language, either. It's a mixture of them, of languages; it's nonsense, said in a soft, hushed hiss; for a moment he speaks in tongues.

But then he's reaching his hand back up to her head, fingers brushing against the messy waves of her hair, very gently combing through some clumps of sand, the way a man (Michael) had done for him earlier. )

[creidim]

[ He's here. He's here with her, and she wishes she could remember what that means. Why he's so achingly familiar to her, how he carefully fusses over her as he gently tugs her robe back into place. There's a slow nod and she repeats the name back, only not as a word but as a sound — managing to echo the syllables but nothing more. Peter. She wishes she could speak, wishes she could remember how to speak; it's something there within her but quietly locked away, much like everything else.

But then something shifts in him, there's a soft hiss of noise, words and not words. The girl's eyes widen, mouth silent moving. Oh. She holds his face as gently as she can, fingers awkward and bent at his cheek. She recalls a word. A flutter of recognition in her eyes; she wants to draw it in the sand — crown. But she keeps her hands where they are, holds onto him. Without thinking, her tongue clumsily brushes against the roof of her mouth; a quiet little click.

His hand move to her hair, brush against it. It feels nice, her head tilting into the touch. The girl makes a few more sounds, content little trills like a small bird. She remembers this: something that had helped her remember herself, having hair. The feeling of fingers gently tucking her hair back. She takes his hand to show him, fumbles with it as she tries to direct it to tuck her hair behind her hair: like this, she remembers it like this.

There's something on his wrist and her gaze turns curiously, catching sight of something blue there. The girl blinks, stares for a long moment in a daze at the colours, the tiny rectangular stones of the bracelet. She frowns, her fingers moving to brush against it, petting it gently. There's another word, this one she tries to voice; her tongue feels heavy and strange and can't enunciate it properly. But it's clear enough: ]

Green. [ Wait, hasn't she seen that before—? She nods quickly, speaks the word again, insisting. ] Green.

[possessum]

( Even if she's just repeating, imitating the word from him, hearing the girl say his name... helps. Something in him flutters, touched upon by hearing the name coming from her. It's... important, when this girl says his name. It means something important.

It isn't only Peter who's touched upon by her, and the other thing with him feels seen too, seen and held and comforted. It's some innate thing in him, like instinct: her tongue gives that soft sound, that familiar little click noise, and not-Peter breathes quietly in response, eyes widening just a bit. There was a girl who told him, a girl named Loose. She said he had a witch like her, only a different kind. She'd used glyphs to display her magic, and she said that his witch used a wand. He hadn't fully been able to understand then, but.... he knows now, being faced with her, that this really is his witch. He's found her.

There's a soft echo of the sound given back to her, a little brush of his tongue to the roof of his mouth: a quiet exchange of awareness. He's here, too; he's glad to see her. And then it's Peter who's brushing his fingers through her hair, careful, still worried for her. He lets her guide his hand, watching quietly as she coaxes his fingers, and then he's giving a soft smile, understanding. Gently, he tucks strands of her hair behind her ear, and then repeats the gesture to the other. He can see her face much better now, curly tangles softly urged from it. Yes, he knows this face. He knows it very well. Memories stir within him, soft pieces of things, and he's giving a quiet sound when she notices the item around his wrist, manages to speak.

'Green'.

...Green. There's blue, and there's green, and he knows this now; it's gently flooding into him. She'd made these for them. Peter's eyes widen, blinking against a sudden pinprick-warm feeling. )

That's right— this one's blue, but there's another. One that's yours. Green.

( He turns his head to look around — he'd found this in a bag near himself, and maybe there's one for her, too.... Peter slowly gets to his feet, moving his hands into the girl's, trying to help her get to her feet if she's able. He's very careful, knowing full-well how difficult it might be. )

Can you stand up...? Like this, with me? We can find yours. Your green.

[creidim]

[ The girl's eyes widen, recognition flits in her gaze. There's something definitely there, someone else hides behind his mismatched eyes. It's quiet, still. But it looks at her as her tongue clicks without thinking, clicks softly back. She thinks the word again, crown — and then another comes to mind: king. A king lives inside the boy, she remembers. And even if she doesn't quite understand what that means, she's alright with that. It's not knowledge that feels scary to know. She's pleased she remembers.

But the king moves away again, lets the boy come out to tuck her hair behind her ear — something as easy as breathing in a way. There's little chirping sounds from her; soft, contented babblings when he realises what she wanted him to do. This is nice, she likes this. It feels like he's done it before, that perhaps it was his hands she remembers — his fingers carefully tucking strands back. Yes, yes it was — she knows this. It was him. It fills her with warmth, a lop-sided grin at her lips.

She nods quickly, eyes widening and bright: her green. Yes, yes. She would like to find her green. Yes. It's something important, it must be. The boy says it is, a version of his own bracelet that's hers. He's important to her — yes, of course. ]

Green, green—! [ The more she says the word, the clearer it starts to sound. Not perfect, but it's something. But standing is... another trial entirely. The girl uses him to place her weight on as he moves his hands to hers, trying to pull herself to stand.

It's difficult though, the clumsy shifting of limbs, awkward and stiff — hard to move on the sand. Her enthusiasm shifts into another frustrated whine, low in her throat; expression twisting into upset. She doesn't quite know how to hold the weight of herself just yet, how to keep her legs straight and steady, how to plant her feet on the ground.

Her legs threaten to buckle and she grabs onto him to stop herself falling, and just... accidentally barrels into him, face-planting into his chest. The girl makes another sound, another whine muffled by the fabric of his robe.

... It sounds apologetic. This is very difficult for her. ]

archives

[entreats]

[ At least it's not a total surprise to Ange to see someone be so happy about books.

After all - sure, Ange is a reader too, but she's not exactly a book-lover. She wouldn't call it her top hobby. But spending a lot of time in the library in Deerington has taught her that this sort of display is enough to make some people very happy. So when Luna is making that remark about getting lost, it's probably more just that she's excited by the sheer amount of books around her right now.

Ange thinks, anyway. Unless the other is just a fan.. of getting lost.. ]

Yeah. [ She instead just answers in a calm, deadpan sort of tone. ] Though you'd hope the books here have at least a bit of useful information.

[creidim]

[ Oh, she's definitely just excited about the books. There's so many, far more that Deerington's library, or even the one at Hogwarts. This is something else entirely. It seems to go on forever. There could be all-sorts in this place, especially considering it's technically run by a Pthumerian.

It's definitely not a bad place to get lost in, all things considered. ]

Depends on the information one is looking for, I think. I'm sure there's something that's useful for everyone here. [ It would make sense, wouldn't it? She smiles with faint amusement before she turns her head in curiosity. ] You're Ange, aren't you? You're dating Ruby?

[entreats]

.. I am.

[ There's a slight pause, during which Ange slightly turns her head away from the other. Not to try and hide the way her cheeks are growing slightly pink, clearly. Obviously. Nothing of the sort. ]

I wasn't aware that that's my reputation now.

[creidim]

Perhaps not the most terrible of reputations. [ There's a playful smile. Oh, she absolutely sees your blush, Ange. But she's not going to point it out so much. People make her blush in regards to Peter a great deal. She understands. ]

Ruby's a friend, she's told me a little about you. [ Not a great deal, but things here and there brought up in social conversations. ] She did happen to mention you're also a witch—!

[entreats]

[ Thank god for Luna - or at the very least, thank god that she's not the type to push and tease in this situation, because it would have been so easy when it comes to this particular topic.

But it's exactly the lack of teasing that has Ange looking back at the other girl. Still looking a little flustered, but at least not enough so to keep looking away. ]

Oh.. yes. I'd say I'm still a beginner when it comes to it, but I am a witch. [ It's something she has much less trouble admitting nowadays.

She goes quiet for a moment though, looking at Luna. Contemplating that 'also'. The other doesn't really look like the kind of witches Ange knows, but.. ]

So you're one as well?

[creidim]

[ Luna knows that one only too well. She's unbothered by most things, hard to embarrass. But romance? When it's so new to her? She definitely gets a little shy and flustered. It can certainly be something that's unpleasant for people to deal with at times, especially with someone who barely knows them. ]

We're all beginners at some point, it still makes one a witch. [ There's a nod. Skill level is just part of the journey, she believes. And besides, she's always happy to interact with another witch! Especially when one uses that specific term. ]

Oh, yes—! I'm one of the ones who uses a wand for spell-work. [ Luna even produces it to show her with a beaming smile. ] But I know it's a bit different for everyone.

Archives

[onekindsoul]

[Ruby felt like she had been stumbling around in the library for hours. She just couldn't find what she was looking for. Part of that was from impatience to pay attention to where she was going or any signs, and part of it was because she was excited to explore a new area.

It's about then that she almost literally bumps into Luna but stops herself at the last moment. She blinks in surprise but grins wide and gives a wave.]

Yeah, kind of makes me feel like I've been going through a fun house maze but they've got books instead of mirrors.

You haven't seen the fiction section, have you?

Or maybe some comic books?

[creidim]

A fun house with books sounds like a very fun house indeed. [ She... doesn't actually know what a fun house maze is. But trust the Ravenclaw to be pleased at the thought of one with books, of course.

There's a short pause as she considers: fiction, comic books—? Hmm. Well. Her eyes glance to the shelves for a moment. She's not really been looking for anything in particular, but she could absolutely find something like that for Ruby. Maybe even Peter would appreciate some comics. ]

They're kind of... everywhere. [ She gestures to a shelf: there's a cookbook, a book on sailing knots, some kind of science fiction novel and what appears to be a memoir in amongst the selection. ] I've found the shelves don't really have any logical order or designated sections. I think you have to be a bit clever about finding things here.

[onekindsoul]

[Ruby can't help but snort hearing Luna say that, but she smiles earnestly after that.]

Not quite what I meant- But you know what? Let's roll with it.

Maybe they have an actual one around here and I can show you sometime.

[She notices just how varied the selection is when Luna gestures to the shelf and she sucks in a bit of a breath.]

Oh wow- It's like they put me in charge of sorting things around here. This would Blake or Weiss' worst nightmare.

Guess I should've started at the beginning and worked my way through.

[creidim]

That sounds nice. [ There's a cheerful grin. Of course it'd be nice to go to this kind of fun house Ruby's talking about, too. ]

Oh, Ruby. No. Why would you do that—? [ Luna's worst nightmare, too. Well. Not really, but she can honestly see it as awful. Poor books not having their proper order. Well, there's probably some kind of order in Ruby's chaos, much like this library. Although, actually... that does give her a bit of an idea—! ]

How about... if you'd organised this, where do you think you'd put the comics? Like really have a think about it, where would you put them—?

[onekindsoul]

If I find anything I'll let you know- If we were in Deerington I'd check out the amusement park but here. I might need some time or make somethin up myself.

[Her grin grows wide immediately when Luna seems to know exactly what brand of chaos she could bring to it. But then she blinks as the question comes out of that. She didn't see that coming.

And she does actually take a few moments to think over what she'd do.]

Well... My gut instinct would be to put them right at the front so it was easier for me to get to because that's what I'd want.

But I'm not the only one who uses the library and someone else could want something a little more important or wordy. So I think I'd put maybe a few sections away from the front. Maybe just behind a fiction books so there's something a little wordy there before you get right into the good stuff.

[creidim]

I forgot Deerington had an amusement park. [ Although not really something she got around to, in all honesty. Deerington was often a bit of a dampner on outside fun. Usually when the monthly madness would hit, it was better to stay indoors.

Look, sometimes when dealt with Ruby Rose-like chaos, it just means you have to think like Ruby Rose. Luna listens intently, her head turning back to see back through the way they've came — towards the entrance. Her eyebrows raise slightly and a slow-spreading smile shifts across her mouth. ]

That's brilliant, Ruby. [ She nods, taking the girl's hand to start pulling her to walk with her. ] Near the front, few shelves back! Let's go see if your gut is right!